


Only You

by justine472



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, Near Death Experiences, Reconciliation, Separation Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28535067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justine472/pseuds/justine472
Summary: Six years after Bernie leaves Jason's wedding party in Albie's she is working for MSF in Syria and is caught up in an explosion. She has had no contact with Serena for those six years, but they are always in each other's thoughts. The explosion brings Bernie's overseas medical career to an abrupt end, and while she recuperates, she enlists Charlotte's help in trying to recruit Serena for a project she has been preparing in advance of her return to the UK. Serena is understandably wary, but her relief at Bernie's survival brings the women back into each other's orbit. Serena is about to get a huge surprise - and a whole new lease of life!
Relationships: Serena Campbell/Bernie Wolfe
Comments: 11
Kudos: 76





	1. Counting Down the Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Minne_My](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minne_My/gifts).
  * Inspired by [I never knew you were the someone waiting for me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17018841) by [justine472](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justine472/pseuds/justine472), [Minne_My](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minne_My/pseuds/Minne_My). 



> 2 years ago, shortly after the scene in "The Right Sort of Animal", where Bernie walks away, I interrupted a long- running fic I was writing to pen a one- off in response to that appalling break- up. I don't know where the story came from, but basically, I killed Bernie Wolfe- in an explosion, ironically, not knowing that that is how the series writers would choose to kill her seven months later. However, my point in killing her was to express my deep sorrow that she would no more grace our screens, and to cheat canon by giving her a legacy I felt she richly deserved. I know many people actually avoided reading that story because the loss of Bernie from the series was too raw, and the wounds inflicted by an apparently careless script had upset too many fans. Nevertheless, I felt the story accurately expressed what I wanted to say at that time. 
> 
> Suddenly, as we approached the 2 year anniversary of Bernie's exit, I had the idea to reverse engineer the story to make Bernie survive the explosion, and to carry out her ambitious project together with Serena. In both stories, they get their eternity, but in different ways. 
> 
> This is dedicated to Minne_my, co-writer on the original who added the happy ending! Hope this one hits the spot!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles for chapters 1 and 2 are from "Call Me When You Land" by Luke Sital-Singh and Old Sea Brigade

**Monday, January 13 th, 2025. Holby, UK**

_It’s been a funny old day,_ thinks Serena, as she packs her bag and prepares to leave the hospital. Christmas far enough behind to be forgotten, spring so far on the horizon that it offers no hope. As the automatic doors open, a gust of freezing air has her fumbling for gloves and hat. Yes, that same stupid furry thing that Bernie used to poke fun at. Had it more than ten years now. Tomorrow will be Bernie’s 60th birthday. Serena wishes she could send her greetings but she has no idea where in the world Bernie is. Cameron had worked at Holby for four years after his mother left, and Serena could track Bernie through him. But since he married and moved to London, she has had no contact with him, doesn’t even know what hospital he’s working in. Charlotte has similarly vanished into the ether. Serena is sure that Bernie and Jason have some contact still, but Jason won’t open up about that.

Serena gets in her car and checks her watch: three-thirty, she’s been working part-time for two years now, since her recovery from thyroid cancer, and has been able to offer more in the way of child support to Jason and Greta, both of whom are in full-time employment. Serena drives out of the hospital towards her first destination. The sky is white, not that full -of -promise whiteness that augurs a bright, fluffy morning, but a sort of dead grey-white. The air is cold but still, heavy, ominous. Serena has felt out of sorts all day, as if she’s coming down with a bug, but as the hours pass and no symptoms manifest themselves, she comes gradually to the realisation that it’s as if she’s waiting for something to happen, something bad. There is a flutter of anxiety in her stomach as she drives carefully up to the kindergarten gates and parks.

Inside, Blanchefleur Haynes, three and a quarter years old, is being helped on with her little padded anorak by her teacher, Kisi Attah.

“Auntie Serena”, she calls, trying to pull away before Kisi has finished zipping her up.

“Fleur, hold still”, commands Kisi, but the little girl is flying into the arms of her great-aunt cum surrogate grandmother.

It had taken some time for Jason and Greta to accept that “Fleur” was a much better short form of her name than “Blanche”, which, to Serena, conjured up a middle-aged stripper in a seedy bar. Besides, Fleur was also the name of Serena’s friend and colleague at the hospital, who delivered both this child and her elder sister, Guinevere.

There had been serious discussions with Kisi about this (in Serena’s view) unfortunate habit of the Haynes’ in naming their children after heroines from Arthurian legends, with Serena determined that they shouldn’t suffer from being teased by other children for them. She had therefore insisted that their names be given in the school register as “Gwen” and “Fleur”.

“Don’t worry, Serena”, Kisi assured her. “I’ll see to it that they don’t get any flak. I suffered myself as a kid in London. My name in Ghana means ‘born on Sunday’, but you can imagine what the other kids did with it.”

Now Serena scoops Fleur up and grabs the little red satchel that Kisi holds out for her.

“Bye Fleur, ‘bye Serena. Say hello to uncle Ric for me.”

“I will do. Fleur wave goodbye to Kisi”.

Serena puts Fleur in her car seat and checks that the doors are all properly closed. When Greta was pregnant with her second child, Serena had finally managed to get rid of her old, cranky Renault and invest in a new Citroen MPV with space for both children and parents and all their accoutrements. As neither Jason nor Greta drives, Serena is the family’s designated driver, so she takes her role-and their safety- very seriously.

The second stop is at Guinevere Haynes’ primary school, which they reach ten minutes later. Gwen is ready and at the door, and she comes skipping down the path, singing, as Serena waits by her car.

“Gwinnie, don’t run, it might be slippery”, calls Serena, as the child starts racing towards her. At six and a half she’s getting too big to scoop up, so Serena opens the back door and lets her settle herself next to her sister.

“Seat belt on”, commands Serena as she prepares to close the door. Gwen first reaches over and kisses her small sister, and Serena feels a sudden lump come to her throat. What did she do to deserve these precious great-nieces? Their joy and innocence are a balm, especially on a day like today, which Serena is aching to reach the end of, safely.

On arriving home, she is gratified to see lights on and a battered Mini Cooper in the driveway, a sign that Evie is already there. Evie Fletcher, now going on 21, is in her final year of a degree in Paramedic Science at the University of the West of England, and is on placement this term at Holby City hospital. She comes three days per week to help Serena with housework and to prepare the kids’ tea. If Serena gets caught up in an emergency, Evie will also pick the kids up from school and take care of them until Serena can get home.

The children are bustled inside, coats and shoes removed, toys and colouring books brought out until Evie calls them to the table to eat. Today she has made mini frittatas, putting as many green vegetables as she thinks she can conceal inside, then over- sprinkling with a little cheese and adding her home-made (healthy) baked beans as a concession to kids’ taste buds.

Serena makes tea for herself and Evie, wishing it wasn’t too early to have a glass of wine.

“Something wrong, Serena?” asks Evie under cover of the childrens’ bright chatter, ever the perceptive one, noting deeper care lines on her face and the black hollowness of Serena’s eyes.

“No, just this feeling of ..I don’t know, like something’s about to happen”.

Evie looks out of the window. “They say it might snow”, she suggests.

“Right, I’d better get the kids home as soon as. You staying?”

“I’ll join you for dinner and get going later. I’m on early shift again tomorrow- 6 am start.”

Serena gets the children home by 6.30, by which time Jason should have arrived. Greta works at home doing something technical with computers that Serena doesn't understand, and she works long hours Monday to Friday.

Greta opens the door of their small house. “Thank you, Auntie Serena. Would you like to join us for dinner? Jason’s making shepherd’s pie.”

“That’s most kind of you, Greta, but I have Evie tonight and she’s already prepared food”.

“OK, bye then. In you come, girls”.

When Serena gets back to her house, the first wet and messy flakes of snow are falling. Her sense of unease has heightened until she finds it hard to breathe.

_For God’s sake, pull yourself together, Campbell!_

In the first year after Bernie left, Serena suffered from panic attacks. They would come on without warning, often in inconvenient places. She always dreaded this happening during surgery, and fortunately, it only happened once, and she was operating with Ric, so she managed to excuse herself for 15 minutes until she had calmed down. Her therapist had taught her strategies to head off or manage the attacks, and gradually Serena had brought them under control. As she stills the engine outside her house, she sits for a minute getting her breathing back to normal, imagining ordinary things. She thinks of shepherd’s pie, and this makes her smile. She hasn’t made or eaten shepherd’s pie since Jason and Greta moved into their own house and she wonders if she’ll ever enjoy it again after years of cooking it methodically every Tuesday during the years that Jason lived with her.

As she approaches her front door, brushing snowflakes from her sleeve, she has a sudden clear, sharp image of Bernie, the first time she joined them for dinner, eating Serena’s shepherd’s pie as if it was the finest gourmet cuisine, exclaiming in pleasure, her eyes sparkling. Serena feels a stab of pain somewhere in the region of her heart. It’s been a while since Bernie has touched her like this with such immediacy, she doesn’t know where this has come from and she does her best to push it away. It’s not what she needs on a day like today.

Once she has divested herself of coat, boots and hat and entered the warm kitchen, she is touched to see a bottle of Shiraz on the table and a glass ready for her. Evie has put out two plates and as Serena sits, she puts brown rice on each plate and ladles over her own-recipe spicy mixed bean chilli, topped with steamed kale.

“That smells delicious, Evie”, says Serena, who, after years of pizza, burgers and fat and salt-laden takeaways, has finally begun to appreciate real food. Since her brush with cancer, she has also been more or less vegetarian, and Evie has been her enthusiastic guide to vegetarian cooking. Wine, though, is another thing.

“You know I’m not in favour of you drinking”, says Evie, “but I thought today you looked like you needed it.”

Serena takes a grateful sip of her wine and smiles affectionately at Evie, a surrogate daughter if ever there was one, far more thoughtful, responsible and loving than her own spoilt Elinor ever was. She is just glad that Evie has no idea of how she spends some of those long, empty evenings when she’s alone. Or maybe she can guess.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you”, Evie says, and pauses.

“Ask away,” Serena mumbles through a mouthful of spicy sauce.

“How did you know….. I mean, what happened when…you knew you were in love with Bernie?”

Serena stops eating, her heart constricts. She forces herself to continue the conversation calmly.

“Is there a reason for this line of conversation?”

Evie looks down, blushing a little. “Yeah, it’s like, there’s this guy, a paramedic at the hospital. I’ve been on shift with him for the last 2 months and we just click. And the way he looks at me, like he really cares.”

“Did he ask you out?”

“No, well, not yet. I think he’s afraid of my Dad.”

Serena laughs, Adrian Fletcher, protective father par excellence, who wouldn’t be scared?

“OK, so first things first. Why don’t you ask him out? Try to see if it works when you’re out of that hospital environment, that it’s not just a kind of crush on a more experienced colleague.”

“Really? Do you think I should?”

“Well, as they say, darling, _carpe diem -_ sieze the day, because sure as hell nothing will happen if he’s too scared to act.”

“Is that what you did? With Bernie?”

Serena pushes her plate away and pours more wine.

“Actually, she started it. She kissed me one day in theatre, it was the day your Dad was stabbed by that mentally ill patient. We had just stabilised him, and we were devastated by what had happened. It came out of the blue.”

Bernie’s eyes connecting with her own after Serena had muttered those immortal words “ _You are the most fantastic, fearless doctor in this entire hospital”_ , then her mouth swooping down to capture Serena’s lips. And her taste, the softness of her lips, all the pent -up desire transmitted through that single kiss. Serena was lost in an instant. She hadn’t expected or even thought about kissing Bernie Wolfe, but the moment she did, it was as if a door she had never noticed suddenly opened. Even now, over 8 years later, the memory sends a bolt of pleasure straight to her core.

Serena’s eyes have darkened with the memory and Evie puts her hand over hers in silent encouragement.

“Then the silly woman insisted we keep it confined to theatre. Talk about a tease! We danced around each other for weeks, and when we kissed again, she immediately buggered off to Ukraine.”

“I never did understand that, Serena. What exactly happened?”

“It was my fault actually. I more or less told her I was in love with her and she bolted.”

“Do you think that might happen with Sergio, my colleague?”

“I think you need to test the water”, Serena says firmly, caressing Evie’s thumb. “Bernie was a bit of a special case- she’d never really come out, you see, and she had no social self-confidence. I very much doubt Sergio would be so fragile. Maybe just shy. But take it slowly, let it develop.”

“And what if my dad has a go at him?

“Oh you can leave Adrian Fletcher to me! This is your time now, Evie, you go for it.”

“So if Bernie ran away, how did you get her in the end?”

How indeed? If Serena Campbell could ever claim to have ‘got’ Bernie Wolfe.

“Ah well, she came back, you see. All contrite, trying to make amends. Making a proper mess of it. Then Jason and your dad took matters into their own hands and locked us in the office. So I pounced.”

Evie giggles delightedly “You pounced? Wow, I would have loved to see that”.

“Well, pretty much everyone in the vicinity saw that, until Bernie closed the blinds in the office, that is.”

“And what happened next?”

“That bit’s censored”, Serena says primly, taking another swig of her Shiraz, but winking at Evie.

Berenice bloody Wolfe! The taste and feel of her, Serena can summon it even now, the way Bernie came alive like someone had turned her switch on, swinging Serena round, pushing her against the wall, the whole length of her body touching Serena’s. In that moment, previously assertive Serena was transformed into a pile of goo, whimpering helplessly against the tide of pure lust that swept through her as she grabbed Bernie’s firm ass and ground against her, kissing deeply, tongues intertwined. Serena remembers the shock of it, the knowing that this is all she had ever wanted and that if they didn’t stop in the next three seconds, they would both be fired for gross indecency.

“I’m sorry for making you think about that, I know you still love her. Do you know where she is?”

“No, after that débâcle in Somalia, where she got caught up in that double bomb blast and went missing for a few days, we were in very brief contact. Last I heard it was Armenia, but she seems to move around every three or four years so it could be anywhere”.

“Do you think she got back together with Alex Dawson? I remember you telling me how mad you were when Captain Dawson showed up and tried to make out they were engaged.”

“Yes,” Serena says darkly. “Not a memory I choose to revisit. Taking advantage of those five days when Bernie was missing in Mogadishu and coming to Holby to spin us a yarn- well that backfired! As soon as Bernie found her way back to base and heard that Alex had gone to Holby, she got in touch and let us know she was alive. We didn’t talk, but Jason messaged her to ask about Alex and she was furious. I don’t think Alex would ever be back in favour after that. In fact, I heard she left the military and is now back here singing in bars somewhere on the south coast.” Serena rolls her eyes. “And good luck to her!”

“Do you think Bernie will ever come back to you?”

“No, I don’t think so”, Serena’s tone is flat. “But in a way, she’s never left me. There’ll never be anyone else, not now,” and she looks down, her eyes starting to leak.

Evie feels awkward. She gets up to remove the plates and hugs Serena to her.

“You know you’re not alone, Serena, we all love you to bits. Me, Dad, Mikey, Theo, Ella, Jason, Greta, the girls… it may not be the same, but we’ve got you”.

“Thank you, darling, you know you all mean the world to me”, Serena says shakily.

The world, yes, the world she had chosen over Bernie. Or what Bernie had taken it to mean. _I choose you,_ that’s what Serena had told her, but when it came down to it, she broke that promise. Twice. Once for a quick fumble with an over-confident F1 who had pursued her relentlessly. Super dumb move, Serena, and what was that all about anyway? Fifteen minutes of sexual gratification and said F1 stroking her ego, abjectly fawning, more like. Serena mentally shuddered at the memory.

Then, the second time when Serena said _I’d never forgive myself if you gave it all up for me_ , which, to Bernie, was a bit like saying _I don’t want you to choose me because I’ve chosen something else._ Bernie, typically, took that as her cue to run off again to another continent, muttering something silly about slippers and pushing swings. _You were wrong,_ thinks Serena. She still has the slippers Bernie used to wear when she lived in Serena’s house. And she can definitely remember Bernie pushing Ella Fletcher in the swing at the park when they had the Fletchlings one weekend. Bernie would actually make an awesome grandmother, thinks Serena bitterly. But there you are. The past is the past. Serena couldn’t bring herself to run after Bernie again, to beg Bernie to wait for her to join her when all she really wanted was the wretched woman right here with her forever. But after all she had done to push Bernie away, her guilt didn’t allow her to say that. And so it was. _Que sera sera_ and all that.

When Evie has gone, Serena sits by the window watching the snow falling. There’s a full moon eerily lighting up the garden. The bottle of Shiraz is empty, but no matter how much she drinks, the feeling of dread and anguish is intensifying. She opens a second bottle but after the first glass she puts it away and makes tea. Something is making her restless, gnawing at her insides. She starts to get stabbing pains in her head.

 _This is ridiculous_ , she thinks. _Come on, find a distraction_. She turns on her Bluetooth speaker and hits play on iTunes in her phone. What she gets is more than she bargained for.

_All I needed was the love you gave,_

_All I needed for another day_

_And all I ever knew_

_Only you._

It takes fifteen seconds for her to realise why she absolutely has to turn this off. It’s her 80’s playlist, certainly, but this is the song Lofty was singing at the wedding party in Albie’s when she and Bernie were having their final conversation. Serena hits stop and throws the phone down onto the sofa. Just what is wrong with her tonight? Usually she can suppress these memories, push them away when she wants and only indulge in them when she lets herself, when she is alone and just drunk enough to enjoy them, preferably with a vibrator. That is her vice, a carefully controlled vice that no one can be allowed to detect. Tonight her nerves are frayed, her resistance paper-thin. Bernie Wolfe is seeping into the cracks in her armour, tugging on her guilt, exposing her regret, coming to Serena in a tidal wave of memories that she is too feeble to resist.

She went through all this with Elinor- her self-indulgent grieving another thing that pushed Bernie away. It has taken not a few years but she has finally found her peace with Elinor, her death day, just recently marked, is less painful with each passing year. Serena has accepted that Elinor has gone, but it’s with a little shock that Serena understands that she has never seen Bernie’s absence as anything other than temporary, whatever she may tell people.

Serena feels an immediate, crushing need to connect with Bernie. This has happened before but never so urgently, and Serena has suppressed it, thinking that if Bernie wants to contact her, she knows where she is. She reaches again for her phone. She never deleted Bernie’s number, but who’s to say she hasn’t changed it in the years since? Serena remembers that Bernie always used a global UK number in addition to her local number. She has a flashback to them walking in the sun in Nairobi, and Bernie using a small, cheap phone to call a hospital colleague, while her iPhone sits (insecurely) in her jeans pocket. She has two SIM cards, surely.

Feeling foolish, Serena presses “Call”. The number takes time to connect and Serena holds her breath. What will she say? Then the number is ringing and her heart is pounding. It rings and rings and finally is cut off. Serena doesn’t know what timezone Bernie is in so she could be sleeping, operating or doing anything at all really. It’s 9.40pm in the UK. Serena paces, makes more tea, watches the snow piling up outside her window, looks at her watch and tries again after 15 minutes. This time she gets the “number unavailable” message.

Her anguish is still acute, but after the second attempt, she realises that it is pointless to keep calling. She drinks more tea to calm herself and turns on the TV for the ten o’clock news. More political shenanigans, riots in some South American country, another outbreak of Ebola somewhere in one of the Congoes, gloom, doom and despair everywhere. And as for the Middle East-

_"Reports are coming in of an attack by insurgents on an MSF base in Aleppo, Syria. The project to rebuild Syria after the civil war has not been without incident, but this is the first time militants have targeted an international health project. It is understood that a bomb has just gone off in a wing of the hospital and several people have been killed. We await further reports from our correspondent in Syria”._

Serena turns off the TV, feeling sick. How many times has she heard this kind of news and imagined Bernie there? But tonight she can’t let it go, there’s something tapping her on the shoulder. As a last resort she calls Jason.

“Auntie Serena, it’s late, is there something wrong? “

“Jason, this is kind of…silly, but do you happen to know where Bernie is right now? I mean, I know she sometimes kept in touch with you by email.”

“Ye-es, I do know. But she told me not to tell you unless there was an emergency.”

“Jason….I feel, I’m not sure, but I think this might be an emergency. Please just tell me which country she’s in. “

“She’s in Syria, Auntie Serena.”

“Oh my God! Jason, did you see the news just now? “

“No, we were watching an old Doctor Who episode.”

“Jason, please do me a favour. Use any source you can think of to get the latest news from Syria and let me know if it’s possible Bernie was there.”

Ten minutes later, Jason calls back.

“I’m so sorry, Auntie Serena, but she is with MSF in Aleppo. That’s the place that’s just been bombed.”

Serena bursts into tears, sobbing “I knew it, I knew it, I could feel something…. Jason, please try to find out if she’s OK”.

“I’m coming over, Auntie Serena, I’ll get a taxi. You shouldn’t be alone”.

**Monday, 13 th January, 2025, Aleppo, Syria**

Bernie Wolfe straightens up and rubs the back of her neck. Her watch tells her it is close to 10pm. She’s been operating for seven straight hours and her back hurts. A rumble in her stomach also reminds her that she hasn’t eaten since a quick falafel wrap at lunchtime, so she grabs her hoodie from the locker room and heads for the canteen.

Although it’s late at night, the canteen is a 24 hour operation and always busy. Bernie sees her colleague, Pierre, sitting at a nearby table and after grabbing a bowl of soup and some flatbread and baba ganoush, she goes to join him.

“Long night!”

“It certainly is. I thought those insurgents had given up, but hitting the university like that- it was so unexpected.”

“Do you think we’re in any danger here?” she asks

Pierre pauses. “We might be”, he says finally. “Who knows what they’ll do? We have UN protection but that means nothing to them.”

Bernie says nothing more, but smiles at Pierre and finishes her meal. Afterwards she goes outside and sits in the cold, crisp air to smoke a cigarette, noting the full moon in the sky illuminating the hospital compound almost as brightly as in daytime. Tomorrow is her 60thbirthday, and she intends to hand in her notice and retire from active overseas work. She has a plan for her retirement, a plan shared with her daughter, Charlotte, who is carrying out the first part of that plan at this moment. 

She pulls out her phone and looks at the picture on her lock screen. Serena. The love of her life. Another part of her retirement plan. A Shakespeare quotation she once had to learn pops into her head:

 _Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale_ _  
Her infinite variety: other women cloy  
The appetites they feed: but she makes hungry  
Where most she satisfies;_

(Antony and Cleopatra, Act 2 Scene II)

No other woman Bernie had been with could hold a candle to Serena Campbell. In truth, there hadn’t been many. Her disappointment at the discovery that Serena had spoiled her for anyone else meant she had virtually given up trying. The last experience, with Lena, an Israeli doctor she met in Turkey, had been particularly excruciating so, from then on, she has been content with her memories of Serena.

She has kept in touch with Jason by email, and made it clear that if ever Serena is in any sort of trouble or needs her, she will return. When Serena got the cancer diagnosis, however, Bernie didn’t find out until Serena was recovering. She had gone off grid for a while in Armenia, where firewalls and poor internet connectivity meant that she had not been in contact with Jason for at least two months. When she finally made her way to an internet café in Istanbul, the world had come back in. Only Cameron and Charlotte had her phone number. And Serena, of course, although it was perfectly possible that she had deleted it after Bernie’s disappearance from her life. Bernie didn’t want to turn up like the Masked Crusader only to disappear again. She had the feeling that that would only meet with deep disapproval from Serena, so she stayed out, adventuring, until she burnt herself out and was ready to go home. That moment was fast approaching. After resigning tomorrow, she would work out her notice and alert Cameron, Charlotte and Jason to the activation of her plan for the next part of her life. A life that she very much hoped would bring her and Serena back together.

She looks at her watch, fast approaching 11pm. Time to check on the patients, then try to grab some sleep.

Thirty minutes later, Bernie Wolfe exits the Trauma wing of the MSF hospital where she has been tending to the victims of the university attack, and is heading back towards the staff residence block. Suddenly a shadow crosses her path-

“Hey – what are you…?”

The shadow materialises in front of her, a man in his thirties, bearded, wearing military fatigues. Hate burns in his eyes. He spits unintelligible words at her in Arabic, and then he is gone, running fast, sprinting across the compound and scaling the wall at the back.

Bernie stops in her tracks, her heart pounding. Who is this guy? She needs to alert security. She turns and runs back the way she came, but then something tells her to change direction and head for the night security post on the perimeter of the compound. Before she gets there, an ear -splitting boom rings out and everything goes black.

**Holby, Tuesday 14 th January, 2025. **

Serena has finally managed to fall asleep, Jason in the spare room. They have scoured every internet site possible for news from Aleppo, but no names have yet emerged. Serena’s anguish is intense, she has never known anything like this, even when Elinor was dying. It is a different kind of pain, one she can’t describe, as if she herself is the one dying.

Serena falls asleep at around midnight, exhausted from sobbing, from fear of losing Bernie, from not knowing. At three am she is suddenly awakened from a dream in which she was trying to hold onto Bernie, who was being dragged away from her by some unseen force. Her heart is pounding. When she goes downstairs at seven the next morning, exhausted from her restless sleep, and apprehensive, Jason is sitting at the kitchen table holding his phone, a look of deep anxiety on his features.

Serena looks at him. “What is it, Jason, is there any news?”

_Newsflash: Médecins Sans Frontières has confirmed that 17 staff and patients have been confirmed dead after the bomb in the hospital in Aleppo yesterday, and 35 more are seriously injured, among them leading UK trauma surgeon, Dr. Berenice Wolfe. Dr. Wolfe, a 25 year veteran of the RAMC, including tours in Bosnia, Iraq and Afghanistan, and most recently, surgeon assigned to humanitarian projects in Sudan, Kenya, Somalia, Armenia and Lebanon, is part of the team rebuilding Syrian medical capacity in the aftermath of the civil war._

Serena collapses onto a chair and buries her face in her hands.

**Aleppo, Tuesday, 14 th January, 2025. 5am local time (3am UK time)**

Bernie has a song playing on a loop in her head. It’s something that reminds her of when she and Serena had their final conversation, in Albie’s, on the day of Jason’s wedding. _And all I ever knew, only you._ Round and round. She can see the picture Jason sent of Guinevere, six, and new daughter Fleur, now three. She’s so happy for them that everything worked out, that they are growing, strong and healthy, and she’s so sorry that she won’t make it back to share in their happiness.

Cameron, thank God, has finally grown up, married a lovely girl he met in Costa Rica, and is working as a registrar in London. Charlotte, too, is happily partnered and is Bernie’s secret weapon in her new plan. Charlotte’s a great kid, she’ll make sure that everything is done properly. Which leaves only Serena, beautiful Serena, love of her life. Not as she last saw her, loud pink shirt, worried, guilty face, but as she was in France, in the sunshine, her yellow summer dress, the red of her lips, stained with wine, her deep chocolate eyes and that sexy smile. And her voice. Bernie wants to sleep with the sound of that voice in her head, and that picture of her so beautiful in that dress. But try as she might to focus, the picture is starting to fade and Bernie feels as though she is in a long, dark tunnel, drifting away, when the voice she knows almost better than her own says sharply “Berenice Griselda Wolfe! Don’t you DARE give up on me.” Bernie struggles against the current and the voice calls her again “Bernie, I need you! ” The reaction is instinctive…this is a summons she can’t ignore. She pushes hard and starts moving towards the image of Serena in her yellow dress, getting closer, almost there, one more push…suddenly there is light, and Bernie Wolfe is back in the world.

**Holby, Tuesday, 14 th January 2025**

All day, Serena has been pacing while Jason hunts for numbers she can call. She has tried the regional MSF office in Beirut and the British Embassy in Damascus, the two most likely to have news, but all they can tell her is that Bernie is “critical but stable” and that unless she is a relative they cannot give any further information. Serena has just thrown her phone down in frustration and sagged back onto the sofa when Jason gets a call.

“Hello Cam,” she hears him say. Her ears prick up. “Yes, she’s here. Would you like to talk to her?” and he hands the phone to Serena. Before Serena can wonder how Cameron had Jason’s number but not hers, his voice draws her attention.

“Hi Serena, I won’t beat about the bush, I’m sure you’ve heard about Mum?”

“Yes…..but how do you..?”

“Jason called me,” he says smoothly, but before she can ask another question, he presses on, “Look, I’ve been asked to give you an update. Mum was on the periphery of the explosion. She has some shrapnel in her leg that they’ve tried to remove, but she was deafened by the blast and shocked. Her heart stopped in surgery,” Serena gasps, “but they got her back, and she’s now out of danger. Once the leg heals, she should be fine. She hasn’t yet regained her hearing, but she insisted on writing down some instructions for her team, one of which was to let us and you know that she’s alive and will be fine.”

“Thank you, Cameron,” Serena says, relief temporarily shutting out her other questions. “And I hope that now she’ll consider settling down somewhere and stop all this dangerous gallivanting.”

“Well, yes,” Cameron replies. “And this is the second reason for calling you. She’s coming home, Serena, and she wanted me to let you know.”

There is a silence while Serena tries to compute the meaning of his words. Coming home, to the UK, alright, but what else? Why would Serena need to know that while she and Bernie are still estranged?

“Right,” she says carefully. “Well, you’ve let me know, Cam. That’s an enormous relief. I’m so happy for her and please tell her I wish her all the very best.”

“The thing is, Serena, Mum has a plan and she’d like you to be involved in it. A charity thing. She had planned to resign her post today and work out her notice, but now she’ll be medically discharged in any case. While she’s recovering, she wants you to be briefed.”

To say Serena is surprised is an understatement. “Briefed? She wants to involve me in a plan?” This sounds more like business than romance. Serena’s heart sinks. Of course, whatever Bernie wants, Serena will comply with. That goes without saying. But she would be a fool to think that after all these years Bernie would see her as anything other than a friend or ex-something-colleague, lover, Serena isn’t sure there’s a word that accurately sums up their relationship.

“Look, I think it’s best that you wait for the legal team to contact you and put you more fully in the picture. My job is to reassure you that she’s going to be OK, and that she’ll be returning to Holby.”

Bemused, Serena ends the call and sits back. She looks for Jason but he has disappeared.

“Jason,” she calls. He comes in wearing his coat and scarf.

“I have to go, Auntie Serena, Greta needs me to help clear the snow from the yard. She’s keeping the children at home today as there’s a promise of more snow later.”

He seems to be in a hurry so Serena bites back a retort and resolves to pursue the business of his contact with Bernie and her family later.

She realises she has forgotten to tell Cam to wish Bernie a Happy Birthday.

**Friday, January 17 th, 2025, Limassol, Cyprus.**

“Just slow down,” Bernie says to Charlotte, who hasn’t stopped talking since she stepped off the plane. The previous day, MSF had arranged for Dr. Wolfe to be shipped to a medical facility in Cyprus for rest and rehabilitation, including physiotherapy. Her hearing is almost back, although she can only catch half of what Charlotte is saying.

“Sorry, Mum, I’m just excited that we can start planning earlier. I was talking to Cam on the way from the airport and he says he’s briefed Jason and Serena.”

Bernie’s tone turns sharp. “Briefed? What do you mean? This isn’t a military operation. For God’s sake, Charlotte, do you want to turn Serena off before we’ve even started?”

Charlotte sits down suddenly on the chair next to Bernie’s in her private room. The French windows are open in the winter sunshine and a glorious breeze is blowing. It really is a lovely spot, Charlotte notices.

“Well, no, Mum, that’s a good point, but really, how do you plan to approach Serena after six years of ignoring her? I mean, I thought focusing on a project would be a way of bringing her back into your orbit without all the emotional baggage. Jason has kept us well informed- we know she’s planning to stop working at the hospital soon, we know she’s still fit and healthy and a bit bored. He thinks she’ll jump at the chance to work with us.”

Bernie’s face suddenly sags. “But what if she doesn’t… I mean, she hasn’t got the same feelings for me as I have for her?”

Charlotte blew out little puffs of air. “Mum, we talked about this. You left because she didn’t seem to want to keep you there. That was her choice. It was your choice to go incommunicado all those years, even if you were secretly keeping tabs on her. So you have to either find each other again or agree to be friends.”

“I’ve screwed this up again, haven’t I?” she says miserably.

“No,” Charlotte says, taking her hands, “not yet.”


	2. Trying to Make A Better Mistake

**Wednesday, January 22nd, 2025. Holby, UK**

Serena’s phone begins to vibrate on the coffee table, jumping impatiently against the wood in time to the throbbing of her head. The number is unfamiliar and has a London prefix. Better see what this is about, she thinks.

“Serena Campbell” she says with the slight brusqueness she has cultivated in recent years when answering her personal phone to strangers.

“Ms Campbell, my name is Neil McGregor, of McGregor, Farzat and Payne, solicitors for Ms. Berenice Wolfe.” A Scottish accent. Polite.

“And how can I help you, Mr. McGregor?” she asks, her heart rate accelerating.

“I understand from Cameron that you have been apprised of Ms. Wolfe’s recent involvement in the bombing in Syria, and that this has precipitated an earlier than planned release from her clinical work overseas.”

Before Serena can acknowledge this information, he rolls smoothly on. “Ms. Wolfe has made certain arrangements regarding her retirement and return to Holby, some of which may, if you so wish, involve you. We would like to arrange a meeting with you to discuss this as soon as possible”.

Serena ponders this for a few seconds. “Will Bernie- I mean Ms. Wolfe- be attending this meeting?”

“I’m afraid not, she’s currently at a rehabilitation facility in Cyprus, but she asked us to give you some important information which you should consider before she gets here.”

“And where would this meeting take place?” she asks, keeping her voice as neutral as she can manage.

“One of my partners, Julia Payne, also has a legal practice in Holby, so we propose coming to you. Would tomorrow at ten suit?”

What on earth has Bernie been up to, thinks Serena, that she can get a firm of London solicitors to come to meet her in Holby? And why is she communicating with Serena through intermediaries? Bernie was never the world’s greatest communicator but this is all frankly very weird.

Finding herself with 24 hours to kill, and the vestiges of a pounding headache from a sleepless, Shiraz-fuelled night, Serena goes in search of a full carafe of best Colombian and a handful of paracetamol and Vitamin C. Duly medicated and caffeinated, she then sets out for a chat with a certain nephew, who will be having his lunch break in exactly thirty-two minutes.

The snow that fell some days ago is still on the ground, temperatures below zero, so Serena knows that Jason will not be occupying his usual bench in the Peace Garden. She finds him in Pulses, alone at a corner table, finishing a bowl of soup.

“Auntie Serena!”, he exclaims. “What are you doing here? It’s your day off.”

Serena sits down opposite him, trying to keep her voice calm. “I’m sorry to disturb you at work, Jason, but I’ve just had a rather strange phone call and I wonder if you could help me understand what’s going on.”

“Who was the call from?” he asks.

Serena briefly summarises the call and the contents while Jason listens, all the while cutting a toasted cheese sandwich into small squares and not really meeting her eyes.

“So, Jason, I think you know a lot more about this than I do. I can see that you’re having difficulty keeping secrets from me.”

Jason puts his knife and fork down suddenly. “It’s not fair,” he bursts out, “I promised Bernie I wouldn’t discuss her business with anyone, and that was easy when no one asked me anything, but I can’t lie to you, Auntie Serena and I’m in the middle. I don’t know what to do.”

Serena feels an uncharacteristic burst of anger towards Bernie for putting Jason in such a position.

“In this case, Jason, I would ask that your loyalty be to me. As we have learned, Bernie is alive and recovering and will soon be coming back. Cameron- and now these lawyers- have told me that I’m involved in some plan of Bernie’s, and we have a meeting tomorrow but I have no idea what is going on. You and Cam obviously do, and I’m feeling very left out. I haven’t spoken to Bernie for over six years apart from a couple of texts, but you seem to have enjoyed regular communications. So please, just tell me what you and she have been discussing all these years.”

Jason puts a square of toasted sandwich in his mouth and chews before answering.

“What exactly do you want to know?” he asks.

“Well, how often have you been in touch with her, for starters? “

“Every month, usually, except the time she was in Armenia then she missed two months,” he replies with his usual forthright honesty while Serena is mentally reeling. The love of her life, and not a word, yet Jason had – she hastily computes – almost 70 communications with her. She can feel her indignation rising.

“And what did you discuss in that time?” she asks, trying not to show Jason how shaken she is.

Jason meets her eyes. “Mostly you, Auntie Serena. She always asked me how you were, if you were coping at work, whether you had a new girlfriend or boyfriend, if you seemed sad. And she told me about where she was and what she was doing. And I sent her pictures of the girls and told her what we were doing.”

Serena is at a loss as to what to ask next. “And when I was ill? Did you tell her?”

“That was a problem- I tried to contact her because she always promised that if anything happened to you while she was away, I should let her know and she would come back. But that was when she was in Armenia. I couldn’t call her or email and she couldn’t contact me. When she got back in contact, you were almost recovered, so it wasn’t urgent any more.”

Serena’s mouth sets in a line that Jason recognises only too well.

“And who decided that, Jason? You or her?”

“She asked me if you needed someone with you, if you were lonely, and I said no, because you had Evie, and us, and Fletch, and you got better very quickly.”

Serena can see no point in commenting on this piece of emotionally flawed logic, it’s hardly Jason’s fault.

“I see. And what was the plan, then, before this explosion?”

“Bernie always meant to come back to Holby. She said she would resign on her 60th birthday- that was last week- and come back one month later. I think she was making that plan when she got caught in the explosion.”

“And do you know anything about that plan, Jason? Have they discussed it with you?”

“No,”, he replies, “Cam just kept me up to date with when she was coming back and he asked me not to tell you.”

“Not to tell me……why ever not?”

Jason’s face splits into a grin. “Because it was a surprise, Auntie Serena. It was supposed to be a big surprise for you.”

Stunned by these admissions of years of communications to which she was not party, Serena ends the conversation and heads back to the car park, not a little discomfited. Berenice bloody Wolfe- thought it was fine to leave Serena and never communicate with her but OK to spy on her to check out her love life so that she could do what? Come riding in on a bloody great white charger the minute Serena needed rescuing? But she even managed to bungle that by going to some place with no internet or phone connection for the very period of time when, in fact, Serena could really have done with her by her side. And now, planning her return as a “surprise” for Serena. She sits in her car for ten minutes as tears force themselves out, feeling old and foolish, humiliated and betrayed by those closest to her.

When Evie drops in after her shift, she finds Serena trying to press a navy suit that hasn’t seen the light of day since Fleur’s christening.

“Hey, what’s this? Got a date?” she asks.

“Well, yes, after a fashion”, and Serena explains the meeting tomorrow with Bernie’s solicitor.

“What do you think she’s up to?” asks Evie.

“God knows”, snorts Serena, apprehension nevertheless creeping into her tone.

Serena drinks only tea that evening and retires early after a hot bath with a trashy romance novel.

**Thursday, January 23 rd, 2025**

Payne Family Solicitors is located in an unassuming building off Holby High Street. Serena has taken a taxi, knowing that parking spaces in the centre of the city are rare beasts, and not fancying a long walk in the freezing cold. She has a camel overcoat atop the navy suit, which seems to have expanded since the last time she wore it. The jacket is hanging off her hips and she had to put a belt on the trousers. She has added a colourful silk scarf to the outfit, a gift from Jason and Greta on her last birthday, to distract from her evident weight loss. 

Serena rings the bell and is buzzed in, kicking slush off her boots. Footsteps sound close by and then Cameron is there.

“Serena, how good to see you”, he greets her warmly, kissing her on the cheek.

“And the same to you. How’s married life?”

“Good, very good. A new Wolfe cub is due to make his appearance any day now”, he smiles.

Serena follows him as he heads for the stairs at the back.

“Well, congratulations! Bernie must be very proud”.

Cameron smiles and leads her into a pleasant upstairs room with a view of the trees at the rear of the building. He ushers her in and closes the door behind them, indicating a comfortable chair for Serena to sit in, and taking her coat. Serena sees Charlotte sitting across the circular table from her next to an unfamiliar woman of a similar age. Before she can speak, a slight, fair haired man in the centre of the room stands and reaches across to shake her hand.

“I’m Neil McGregor, we spoke on the phone. It’s a pleasure to meet you Serena.”

“And..er, likewise”, she says.

He extends his arm towards the others. “Charlotte you know, and next to her is her partner, Sofie Madsen, whose role we will explain shortly. There’s quite a lot of information we have to give you about Bernie’s plan, so I suggest you get your coffee order in now as you may need it once we get going”.

Somewhat taken aback, Serena orders a black coffee, wondering what on earth this is all about.

“Firstly’, Neil continues, “let’s deal with the basics. Bernie has resigned on medical grounds from MSF after the latest incident, so whereas she would now be working out her notice and moving her plans forward herself, she has asked us to help accelerate things by filling you in while she’s recuperating.” He pauses and gives a little cough before continuing.

“What you almost certainly are unaware of is that Bernie inherited almost two million pounds from the estate of her late father’s sister, Mabel Wolfe, five years ago. “

Serena only just stops herself from spraying coffee all over the table.

“There’s a bit of a back story here – Cameron, would you…?”

“Great aunt Mabel was a researcher for big pharma companies most of her life. She lived mostly in Liverpool, and also taught at the university. When Mum was younger she encouraged her to study Sciences and to go for Medicine- she wasn’t so keen when Mum joined the Army, but still they kept in touch. When Aunt Mabel was in her fifties, she suddenly resigned from her job and started working on philanthropic projects. She had made a lot of money, and now she started using that money for charitable purposes. When she died she left all her fortune to Mum, on condition that it was used for good. Mum told us about this and explained that she would set up a Trust of some sort to make the best use of it. Over to you, Charlie.”

Charlotte turns her soft, brown gaze on Serena.

“You probably know, Serena, that I studied Law at university. After graduating I trained as a solicitor for three years. I was just completing my training when Mum inherited the money, and we talked about how to deal with it. She wanted me to be responsible for setting up a Trust, but I wasn’t really confident about handling all that money. Mum had a solicitor friend in London that she had met in Iraq- Neil and Julia’s partner, Aziz Farzat, he’s a finance specialist, so she went to him and asked him to take care of the funds while we researched setting up a Trust. It ended up with me going to Copenhagen to do an MBA in Finance, and then we decided that that’s where we would set up the Trust. In that time I had also met my partner, Sofie,” she smiles at Sofie across the room, a slightly shy, crooked Bernie Wolfe smile. Sofie lights up like a bulb, so much love radiating between them it is almost palpable.

“I’m a financial analyst”, Sofie says, with just a touch of an accent, “and when Charlie told me about her mother’s money we came up with a plan for her.”

“Enter Wolfe-Madsen”, smiles Charlotte, who adds that she had previously changed her surname to Wolfe. “We set up a legal firm in Copenhagen to administer the Trust, then worked with Aziz in London to transfer the money and get it all set up. In five years, Aziz has helped the Trust amount grow to almost four million pounds.”

Serena is astonished- all this going on and she had no idea. But this has happened since Bernie left her, so how would she have known? She fumbles for a question.

“What does the Trust do, exactly?”

“OK, well its full name is the Wolfe Education Trust for Syrian and Iraqi War Victims, or the Wolfe Trust for short. It provides funding for children from Syria and Iraq, whose families have been affected by wars, to study any health-related course overseas. The aim is for them to return to their own country, or work in another country suffering from the aftermath of war, and to use their skills to help the local community.”

“Wow”, says Serena, “that’s amazing”.

“It’s taken us three years to get this up and running”, adds Sofie, “because it’s quite complex. We have to fund- raise and find ways of ensuring our commitments are met. We don’t just hand out money, either, there are lots of tricky decisions involved.”

“Yes,” adds Charlotte, “Mum had all these ideas but I’m afraid the fine print has been a bit of a nightmare. We’ve started by awarding an academic scholarship- the Dr. Berenice Wolfe Scholarship- to 4 outstanding high school graduates per year from those countries, and we monitor them to make sure they follow the plan.”

“This is all fascinating”, says Serena, thinking, how typical of Bernie that she would want to help those she had worked amongst in Syria and Iraq, “but where do I come in?”

Charlotte looks at Neil.

“Well, the first phase of the Trust’s plan includes setting up a local office here in Holby to monitor the students placed in the UK, liaise with the universities and so on. We need someone with a good business brain and excellent communication skills to run that office. The Trust has decided that it would like to offer this post to you, Serena. It would mean retiring from Medicine, but we understand you had planned that for the near future anyway.”

_Jason_ , thinks Serena, _feeding information to Bernie_.

“And what about Bernie? What will she do?”

Charlotte takes over. “Mum is one of the Directors of the Trust and she will be based in Holby, but she freely admits her business skills are nowhere near as good as yours. Besides, she’ll have other duties related to Phase 2, which we’ll outline in a moment.”

“I see,” Serena says. “Well, can you tell me about the next Phase? So I know what to expect if I were to accept this position?”

“Phase 2”, says Neil, “concerns the adoption of girls who would otherwise have no means of studying beyond primary or secondary school. Before the recent explosion, Bernie had been working with orphanages and schools in Damascus and Aleppo to find a means of identifying suitable candidates. It took a lot of work on the legal side to find the best way to get these children out of Syria and Iraq and into another country. Aziz, Sofie and Charlotte have been on fact-finding trips to both Baghdad and Damascus, and have finally established a bona fide legal channel to get adoptees into the UK and Denmark. We expect Phase 2 to start …” he raises his eyebrows and Charlotte says “in April, approximately, when the first girl should be ready. And the Holby office would be involved in that, too, once adoptees arrive in the UK.”

There is a silence as Serena processes this information. Then she says, “I presume you’ll give me time to consider this offer? And I’d like to see a contract to understand the full implications before agreeing to anything.”

“Absolutely, Serena,” says Neil. “We can give you fourteen days in which to make a decision, and I’ll have a proforma contract emailed to you this afternoon.”

Serena then turns to Cameron, who seems to have been merely an observer, but who she knows to be already mentally compiling his report for Bernie. She tries to keep her voice neutral.

“There’s one more thing. Bernie Wolfe is my ex-partner, and, I hope, still a friend, even if we have been estranged for the past six years.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t call it estranged exactly….” Cameron begins, but Serena turns a steely eye on him and he subsides into silence.

“Estranged is exactly the word, from my perspective. I am aware that communications have been taking place behind my back for several years and that this plan has been developed with no consideration as to how I might feel about it. I find it quite incredible that the person making all these plans, who was once very close to me, should opt out of telling me all this herself.”

Cameron looks pained, but Charlotte cuts in. “Mum’s in convalescence in Cyprus, Serena. She’s not ready to travel to the UK yet- not just her leg, which is a mess, but also the after- effects of shock from the bomb blast. She hasn’t yet recovered her hearing 100%, for example, and she’s got pretty severe PTSD. They’re having to sedate her to make her sleep, but we hope this is just short-term. She insisted we push these plans forward and she will talk to you as soon as she’s able. The priority has been to get the first phase of the project off the ground on time. She didn’t want to drop it all on you at the last moment.”

“But it’s OK to let someone else drop it on me,” Serena says tightly, suddenly aware that she is close to tears.

Cameron opens his mouth to speak but Charlotte shushes him and stands up. 

“Why don’t we go for a little walk?” she suggests, motioning to her partner to follow.

Serena finds herself unable to answer coherently, so she nods mutely and gets to her feet. Neil comes over and offers his hand.

“I understand this may have come as a shock to you, Serena, I’m sorry there wasn’t another way of doing it at the moment, but please take your time and if you have any questions at all, feel free to contact Charlotte or myself,” and he hands over a business card which Serena pockets. She shakes his hand and forces a weak smile, allowing Charlotte to guide her out of the building.

It’s freezing cold, but all are hatted, gloved and well wrapped up. Sofie comes to Serena’s other side and she and Charlotte link arms with her, which Serena feels oddly comforted by. They walk a little down the High Street and Sofie starts a conversation with Charlotte about air tickets back to Copenhagen, which Serena identifies as a ploy to give her time to compose herself. When they draw level with a Costa, Charlotte raises her eyebrows and indicates the door. Serena nods, unwilling to spend much longer in the Arctic temperatures. The coffee shop is warm and there is a window table free with comfortable armchair seating. Sofie goes to the counter while Charlotte sits with Serena.

“I’m sorry about Cam,” she begins. “He can be undiplomatic at times.”

“No, it’s fine, I’m not bothered about that. It’s just that Bernie never contacted me except once, after the explosion in Mogadishu, seven months after we split, just to let us know she was alive and well, and the rest of the time not a dicky bird until today. Then I find out she’s been communicating with Jason, checking up on me, and that Cam and Jason have been in contact, and what I don’t understand is why on earth she couldn’t just contact me herself. Was that so difficult?”

Sofie has returned and placed an americano in front of Serena, and cappuccinos for herself and Charlotte. Charlotte reaches over and takes Serena’s hands.

“You know, Serena, that Mum is a terrible communicator. But worse than that, she’s been afraid of intruding in your life. She wanted you to find happiness and not to worry about her. When she left, it was for what she thought was a noble reason- you seemed to want her to be free, not tied to you or Holby, and you had your life in Holby to get on with.”

Serena rolls her eyes. “But all that time she’s been working on a secret plan for me to run her Trust office? “

Charlotte laughs a little. “I know, I know, I find it rather ridiculous too. But really, this whole project has taken ages to get going and she wasn’t sure- we weren’t sure- we could get to this point and be ready to open the office in Holby.”

“Well the bottom line, Charlotte, is that before I can even consider this offer I need to see and talk to Berenice Wolfe.”

Charlotte nods. “I’m heading back to Cyprus on Sunday. And I’ll set up an online meeting for you both.”

Serena doesn’t have to think. “I’m coming with you,” she says.

Charlotte looks at her steadily for a few seconds, then nods, as if she has been expecting this answer all along. Sofie smiles and reaches for Serena’s hand.

“Good for you, Serena.”

Charlotte smiles and takes the other hand. “Yes, this actually saves me a huge argument with her. And I think we’ll make it a surprise!”

**Sunday, January 26 th 2025\. Heathrow Airport and Limassol, Cyprus.**

Serena meets Charlotte and Sofie in the British Airways Lounge in Terminal 5, Charlotte having insisted that the Trust would offer her a Business Class seat for the journey.

“I thought you were coming alone,” Serena says to Charlotte.

“I was. But we thought that if both of us were there, we could get more work done. You need to spend time with Mum, and so do I. But you can also start working with Sofie on the Trust background materials. That is…”

“..if I take the job,” Serena adds, smiling.

In reality, Serena never had any intention of not taking the job. She has been on the verge of retiring from Holby for some time and this has given her the right push, handing in her resignation the day following the meeting. It is a job she knows she will love and do exceedingly well, but first she needs to understand on what basis she and Bernie will be coming back together again. Friends and colleagues? Or lovers? This is the only way she can find out.

Charlotte gets a taxi at Limassol airport to take them to the British Military convalescent facility where Bernie is staying, explaining that she is in a wing reserved for relief agency medical staff based in Syria and Iraq,

“Cyprus is the nearest safe European base with appropriate facilities, but once Mum’s previous military record and rank were revealed, she was bumped up to a luxury senior officers’ suite,” Charlotte smiles, rolling her eyes a little. “I’ve booked us a 2-bedroom guest apartment on site, Serena. It’s very private.”

Serena nods, her stomach flip-flopping with nerves. Will Bernie be pleased to see her? Or uncomfortable? When the taxi pulls up outside a pleasant looking compound with low buildings, trees and plants all around, she takes a deep breath of the warm, scented air and prepares herself. The three women go first to reception to check into the guest apartment, which is spacious and airy. Each bedroom also has its own ensuite bathroom, which Serena is grateful for.

“Ready?” calls Sofie, striding towards the front door, having divested herself of her winter parka and boots and now in jeans, trainers and hoodie. Serena thinks she looks like an athlete, tall, lithe, her short, dark chestnut hair flopping over her green-grey eyes. Charlotte is almost a mirror image of her mother- a little shorter perhaps, but slim, blonde and with the same warm brown eyes, but none of the social awkwardness. Serena has touched up her lipstick and looks at herself critically in the mirror. Weight loss has meant her leggings and tunic fit better, her curves unencumbered by extra rolls. She pats her hair nervously. _Keep it together, Campbell!_

Serena waits outside while Charlotte and Sofie go into Bernie’s room to greet her, then they come out and indicate for her to enter. As she crosses the threshold she hears the door click shut behind her. She takes a deep breath.

“Hello Bernie.”

“S-s-serena? I wondered if you would come. Are you angry with me?”

“Of course I bloody am, you great pillock! Six years of radio silence, then a job offer?”

Serena crosses the room to where Bernie is sitting in an armchair, her injured leg raised on a stool. She looks amazingly healthy, Serena thinks, for someone who’s been through a major trauma, a little pale and with shadows under her eyes and a dressing covering a wound on her temple, but her skin is lightly tanned and she is just as slim and fit looking as ever, dressed in a navy hoodie and sweatpants and white T shirt.

Serena knows that if she kneels down she may never get up again, so she draws another chair closer to Bernie’s and reaches over to brush her lips against the other woman’s cheek, feeling Bernie’s inhalation as she does so.

“You look wonderful and you smell the same,” she murmurs.

“And you look just as amazing but you smell all medical,” retorts Serena, her eyes twinkling with a tenderness she is unable to conceal, taking Bernie’s hand and caressing her knuckles.

“So talk to me, Serena, tell me how you’ve been.”

“I thought Cameron and Jason had given you chapter and verse,” Serena says a little more tartly than she intended.

“I..I’m s-sorry,” Bernie stammers, blushing. “I understand if you’re angry, but I needed to make sure you were OK.”

“And if I wasn’t?”

“Then I would have come back.”

“So where were you, Sir Galahad, when I had cancer?”

Bernie’s gaze drops from her eyes to Serena’s neck, where the thyroid scar is still faintly visible over a hollow that appears when Serena breathes in. Bernie gently runs a finger over the scar.

“I was in Armenia….” she begins…..

**90 minutes later**

Bernie is obviously getting tired, so Serena calls Charlotte and suggests they come and have a quick chat before giving Bernie a break. She is sitting next to Bernie’s armchair, still holding hands.

“You have no idea,” Bernie says, suddenly choked up, “how much I missed you, Campbell.”

“Oh I do,” Serena replies, unable to stop a trickle of bitterness leak into her tone. “I missed you too, every second of every day. And cursed myself for letting you go like that. Why ever didn’t you think to get back in touch?”

“I thought about it constantly. But it seemed as if my getting in touch might give you the idea I was coming back. I knew that once I got out there, I wanted to use the time to do whatever I could. Then my aunt died and I inherited the money and, well, I think you’ve heard the story…”

“But I still want to hear it from you, Bernie,” Serena says earnestly.

At that moment there is a knock at the door and Charlotte and Sofie enter.

“So, all friends again?” asks Charlotte, smiling tenderly.

“Oh I think so, don’t you?” Bernie says, a little tentatively in Charlotte’s opinion.

Serena clasps Bernie’s hand. “We’ve never stopped being friends,” she says. “But we have a lot more to talk about.”

“Mum has her dressing changed about now, and then her meal,” Charlotte says. “And we should go somewhere for dinner. Then Mum probably needs a nap.”

Bernie looks up, none of the sharpness gone from her gaze.

“The problem I have is sleeping at night,” she says. “The PTSD really kicks in, so they give me sedatives to take when I’m ready to sleep. If you come back at ten, Serena, we can talk some more. I need to be made more tired before sleeping.”

Serena reluctantly lets go of those slim, elegant fingers that six years has not erased from her memory. There is a knock at the door and the sound of a trolley being pushed in. Bernie rolls her eyes.

“Invalid time,” she says.

The nurse smiles when she sees Serena and gestures to her trolley. “Changing the dressings,” she says. Serena nods and moves towards the door, giving Bernie a little wave and blowing a kiss.

**2 hours later**

Bernie is already in her pyjamas, dozing in her chair when Serena returns from having a rather nice Greek dinner with Charlotte and Sofie.

“Serena”, she murmurs. “Come here.”

Serena returns to her side and holds her hand. Bernie’s head flops against her shoulder.

“Can we lie on the bed?” she asks.

Serena immediately gets to her feet and finds Bernie’s walking frame, offering her arm as Bernie struggles into a sitting position and tries to push herself up. The first time she tries, she can’t quite make it and falls back down again. Serena goes to support her back but Bernie holds up a hand- “Getting there!”

The second time she manages and transfers her hold to the frame. Serena turns down the bedcovers to help Bernie get inside and stacks pillows behind her head so that she can sit rather than lie flat. Bernie pats the space beside her and Serena moves to sit next to her on top of the bed, which, luckily, is midsize and can easily accommodate both of them. Serena sees the pills laid out on the nightstand so she knows Bernie’s not yet ready for sleep. Bernie snuggles closer to Serena and starts talking.

“I think they’ve told you about how the Trust got set up. Me inheriting that ridiculous amount of money from my aunt and all that?” She inclines her head to look at Serena, who nods. Then she goes on. “Right. But have they told you about Phase 2?”

“About adopting war orphans, girls? Yes, a bit. But not the specifics.”

“There’s something I need to tell you, Serena, before we get into the rest of it. But first – can I ask whether you’re on board with the idea of running the office? I mean, I’m assuming yes, with you being here but...”

“I’ve resigned from Holby City Hospital, if that’s what you mean. And I’m available to take the job. In fact, I’d love to take the job, especially if it means working with you again.”

Bernie’s eyes are soft and melting as she pulls Serena closer against her and says “Of course it does. We always made such a great team.”

“That we did,” Serena agrees, looking searchingly at Bernie. “And on what basis do you see us doing this? As friends and colleagues, or something closer?” she asks, a little teasingly, heart now pounding as she waits for the response.

“Well, I think that will be up to you, Serena, when you hear the next bit.” Serena raises an eyebrow.

“I have already adopted the first girl myself.”

Serena looks up in astonishment.

“I got to know her gradually, and now all the paperwork is done. Her name is Sara. She’s fourteen and doing well at school. She wants to study Medicine. She’s from a Christian minority family, which is why it‘s been easier to adopt her than a Muslim girl. Her parents were killed in the civil war when she was small and she’s been brought up by an aunt who can no longer afford to support her. Her tuition fees will be paid by the Trust until she finishes her university degree, and I’ll support the rest.”

Serena’s head is reeling. Bernie has adopted a teenage girl? Bernie who called her parenting skills “non-existent” and who had run away from domesticity? Then a thought comes to her.

“Bernie, what would have happened to this girl if you’d been killed in that bomb blast?”

Bernie looks directly into her eyes. “I left instructions about that. Everything was taken care of. And I asked Charlotte to ask you…to ask you, Serena, if you would be her guardian in my place.” She stops abruptly, as if afraid of Serena’s response. Serena feels tears come to her eyes.

“You were going to ask me?”

“I can think of no one better. In fact, Serena, I had also prepared Sara for that possibility. I talked to her about you and told her that she would meet you anyway, but that if anything happened to me, you would be there to help and support her. So this is what I want to ask you now. I’d like you to co-parent her with me. That’s if you feel able to do that… Between us I think we could do a good job…” her voice trails off as if she’s suddenly lost her nerve.

“And if I say no?”

“W-well, that’s your absolute right, and I wouldn’t think any the less of you for it, and we can still be friends and…” then she sees Serena’s face.

“You idiot,” Serena says fondly, “of course I will. It would be an absolute honour. On one condition.”

“Which is?”

“Her adoptive name is Campbell-Wolfe.”

Bernie is choking back tears of joy “I think we can manage that,” she says, pulling Serena into a hug.

“Oh Bernie, why did I ever let you go?” whispers Serena as strong arms come around her and soft hair brushes her cheek.

**3 days later**

“Taxi’s here,” calls Charlotte and she, Sofie and Serena plan to leave for the airport. Bernie is making excellent progress and has been told that her repatriation flight is being arranged for one week’s time. Her hearing is back to normal, she has been working hard in physiotherapy to be able to walk just with a stick, and she is gradually weaning herself off the sedatives. 

Serena, who has spent every night in Bernie’s room soothing her through the nightmares, is finding it difficult to let go. She pulls Bernie down into a deep kiss as Charlotte gives a little cough and Sofie pointedly waits outside.

“Call me when you land”, she whispers. “I’ll be waiting”.

“You don’t have to go to the airport,” Bernie protests.

“Try to keep me away,” Serena smiles. “And then I’m taking you home. For good.”


	3. For Eternity

**Cambridge, July, 2035**

The sun flashes blindingly through the trees and Serena adjusts her sunglasses as she moves across the cloister to the great Hall where the graduation ceremony will be held. In front of her are Jason, Greta, Gwen and Fleur, keen to get seats from where they can take pictures. Next come Cameron with his 10 year- old son, Luis, and his wife, Tina. Serena is holding three -year old Olivia, secretly her favourite, a Wolfe through and through, quiet and thoughtful with Bernie’s puppy dog brown eyes. Charlotte and Sofie arrive last, delayed by a traffic jam on the motorway. They flew in last night from Copenhagen, having left their young twins at home with Sofie’s parents. The Campbell-Wolfe-Haynes family all sit in one row, and Serena passes the now wriggling Olivia back to Tina.

“Where’s Nana Bernie?” asks Luis in a plaintive voice.

“She’s helping Sara get ready to go on the stage to get her degree certificate”, whispers Serena.

It has been a long, hard, but immensely rewarding ten years as Serena and Bernie, with not a little help from Evie, Jac and Donna, have groomed and supported Sara from awkward 14 year through her metamorphosis into brilliant student, winning a full scholarship from Holby Grammar to Cambridge, and setting herself well on the road to medical stardom.

Serena is bursting with pride, and more than content with her life. Today she has a new suit and haircut, the silver vixen look touched up, the overall effect belying her 70 years.

“You look fabulous, Serena”, whispers Charlotte, giving her a wink.

“Thank you, I feel fabulous,” is Serena’s response. Early retirement from Holby City Hospital allowed her to take over the Holby office of the Wolfe Trust, which she has run efficiently now for 10 years. In addition to Sara, they have four adoptees from Syria and Iraq living in south-west England and the Dr. Berenice Wolfe Scholarship is now graduating twenty students of health-related subjects per year from top universities in the UK, the USA, Denmark and Sweden. Sofie and Charlotte have expanded the operation in Copenhagen and opened offices in Stockholm and New York, with Charlie flying constantly between them. The arrival of their twins three years ago had made them realise that she needed to slow down a bit, and so they had co-opted Aziz Farzat, who now worked exclusively for the Trust from his law firm in London, and who today is attending a graduation ceremony in Boston.

Serena feels fully a part of this amazing Wolfe family. She and Bernie formalised their relationship shortly before Sara’s arrival, bestowing the name Campbell-Wolfe on the young girl, and she has flourished in their care, as have all the other adoptees with their carefully selected families.

Her musings are interrupted by the Dean of the Medical School, announcing the Vice-Chancellor who will say a few words to start the ceremony off.

As she talks, Serena looks around the Hall, and can see the graduates in their gowns and mortar boards lining up on either side of the stage. She cranes her neck for a glimpse of Sara, but her eyesight is not what it was when she used to perform intricate vascular surgery every day, and all the black gowns are bleeding in to one another. On her left side, Gwen, now a striking, composed sixteen year old, nudges her and points “There she is”. Squinting through her glasses, Serena follows the line of her finger, and yes, there’s Sara, her face serious. She’s nervous, Serena can see. Her heart goes out to her. Sara, brilliant though she is, tends to have a bit of social awkwardness when it comes to public speaking. They both know that today she will be required to make a short speech, so Serena hopes she can keep herself together.

Finally, the graduates come forward, one at a time, to receive their medical degrees. It all happens quickly. Cam, Jason, Gwen, Sofie are all trying to get the best shots with their various devices. Serena leaves them to it, she knows she will get copies. Her heart soars with pride as she hears them announce “Sara Khaddaj Campbell—Wolfe” and here she is, her and Bernie’s adopted daughter, stumbling a little as she mounts the stage, but then walking confidently up to the Vice-Chancellor, who shakes her hand and murmurs “Very well done, my dear”. Serena wipes a tear, as befits a proud mother, and exchanges a smile with Charlie. Sofie reaches over and squeezes Serena’s hand.

After the awards, the Vice-Chancellor has more to say. She wants to mention the exceptional contribution to Medicine of The Wolfe Trust.

“On this day, Cambridge University alone has four out of its two hundred and fifty medical graduates from The Wolfe Trust, all of them from the former war zones of Syria and Iraq. This year, around the world, The Wolfe Trust will be congratulating a total of twenty successful young graduates in health-related subjects, an extraordinary achievement for a small Trust. Furthermore, two of those Cambridge graduates, despite the numerous barriers to success in their path, achieved full scholarships on their own merit, competing against candidates from the UK and around the world. The University of Cambridge School of Medicine would today like to honour the work of The Wolfe Trust by granting its highest award, that of Outstanding Medical Graduate, to Dr. Sara Khaddaj Campbell-Wolfe.”

The Hall goes wild as people clap and cheer, and Sara stumbles back up to the podium, Bernie materialising briefly behind her, a steadying hand on her arm. Serena holds her breath as Sara starts speaking, thanking the Vice-Chancellor and the University for this award.

“And the person I really need to thank is Berenice Wolfe, founder of the Trust. It is because of her that the Trust exists, and because of her that we, the children of the former war zones of Syria and Iraq, have been able to study in the world’s greatest universities and have the opportunity to advance the frontiers of medical knowledge. Berenice Wolfe is one of the UK’s, if not the world’s, leading trauma surgeons. I had the immense good fortune to have been adopted by Ms. Wolfe and her wife, Serena Campbell-Wolfe. Thanks to both of them, and to my wonderful Campbell-Wolfe family, I had an opportunity that was unimaginable to most young Syrians of my generation. I am therefore accepting this award on behalf of The Wolfe Trust, with our pledge to do all we can to make this a better world for everyone.”

The hall erupts and Serena claps until her hands are numb, her heart bursting with pride. Sara looks so earnest standing up there and Serena knows she means every word of what she said. She can’t count the sleepless nights she has had each time Sara goes back to Syria. They didn’t allow her to go until she was 20, and then, only accompanied by an older, more experienced person such as Aziz, who has become an unofficial uncle. Sara is sensible and intelligent but not all that streetwise. Syria is still dangerous. Serena once visited Damascus with Bernie and Sara, and she saw immediately what Bernie loved about the Arab world. The warmth of the people, the sincerity of the hospitality, the dry desert air, cloudless blue skies, the purity of it. But unlike Sara, Serena could sense hidden dangers- in the looks of certain young men, in the way conversation in a café might hush when they passed, in the glances directed to them as they wandered through back streets. Sara had grown up here, she felt no fear because the war was over and she had been a child, not always aware of adult concerns; but the war had long been over when Bernie was almost killed in the explosion. It didn’t mean everyone had forgotten or was happy with the status quo.

Sara steps back to tumultuous applause, and Bernie is suddenly on stage. She cuts an elegant, impressive figure in her sharply tailored charcoal suit, a fitted pale pink shirt underneath. Her hair, more of an ash blonde nowadays, is stylishly tousled and she looks much younger than her 70 years. The Vice-Chancellor signals for silence and Bernie steps up to the microphone. She has become a much better public speaker in the ten years since launching the Wolfe Trust, that’s for sure, thinks Serena.

“I almost wasn’t able to be with you today,” she begins. “Ten and a half years ago, I was caught up in an explosion in Aleppo which killed a number of my colleagues and patients in the MSF hospital base there.”

The huge hall falls silent, you could hear a pin drop. “But even if I had not survived that bomb, I can tell you that the Wolfe Trust would have succeeded in doing exactly what it did, and Sara, our adopted daughter, would still be standing here today being awarded this prize. I was lucky enough to inherit a large sum of money from a relative fifteen years ago on condition that it was used for good. But while I had a background in Trauma Medicine, I had no expertise in law or finance. Left to me alone, this money might simply have been donated to other charities. But those around me had other ideas. The Wolfe Trust is first and foremost a family concern. My daughter, Charlotte Wolfe, and her partner, Sofie Madsen, provided the legal and financial expertise to set up the Trust. An old friend, Aziz Farzat, partner in a legal firm in London, became the fund’s Trustee. My wife, Serena Campbell-Wolfe, with her impressive medical background and Harvard MBA, has run our UK office impeccably, and also, with an army of willing helpers, was ready to take over care of Sara in my absence. The Wolfe Trust has grown and flourished from seeds sown long ago on the battlefields of Iraq and Syria, thanks to a chance inheritance and a team of amazing people. What I am standing here today, against all odds, to tell you is that even the impossible can be achieved with cooperation, determination and kindness. The Wolfe Trust is not a multinational corporation. It does not seek profit or the oxygen of publicity. Everything we have achieved is by human beings for other human beings in response to their needs. All we ask is that the kindness is repaid. Thank you.” 

The hall erupts once more and the Vice-Chancellor thanks Bernie and Sara, who exit the stage, as everyone starts to move to the refreshment tents.

Sara has reached Serena’s side. “How did I do?” she asks. Serena hugs her tight, this awkward, brilliant, kind young woman she has come to love with every fibre of her being.

“You were wonderful, you make us so proud. You did much better than Bernie would have done at your age. She’d have shrivelled up if she’d had to do that”, and they laugh together, as Bernie joins them and high fives Sara, nodding in agreement.

Serena then sidles over to her, “Great speech, darling. Have I told you that you look absolutely ravishing in that suit?” whispered into Bernie’s ear as they move towards their table.

“As do you, gorgeous,” Bernie whispers back. “Could that cleavage have been any deeper? Shall we get a room?”

“If only,” Serena murmurs, “but I think we’re giving Jason and family a ride home.”

Bernie winks at her, and then, almost giving Serena a heart attack, she removes her jacket, revealing the slim fitting, finely woven shirt which displays her still toned body to perfection, and puts it carefully on the back of her chair before sitting down.

Her group has grabbed a table and Jason, Cameron and Sofie are ferrying drinks and plates of food to everyone. It’s a happy scene, there are toasts, pictures, hugs, and, desperate though she was to get Bernie alone, Serena wouldn’t have missed it for the world. During a lull in the selfies and instagramming, Sara says “Maybe now’s the time to ask you something I’ve puzzled over for years, Bernie.”

“And what’s that?” smiles Bernie, popping a canapé into her mouth and chasing it with a swig of sparkling water.

“It’s about the time you gave the speech at Jason’s wedding”.

Bernie looks perplexed, whatever is Sara on about? but Serena rolls her eyes, having heard this plea before. “The Right Sort of Animal”, she mutters, and Bernie immediately cringes in embarrassment.

It was a hastily assembled crew from the hospital who attended the makeshift ceremony in the Peace Garden that day. The memory is still painfully raw for both of them, even 16 years later. Only a couple of hours after that ceremony, Bernie left. Those were their last few hours together for six long and lonely years. And all because of a misunderstanding. Or so it seemed.

“Well I don’t know why you want to dig that up, but what about it?” Bernie asks, trying not to sound too defensive. The only reason Sara knew about it was because Jason had obtained a copy and used it on many occasions to bolster his arguments. Gwen and Fleur thought it hilarious, Gwen saying she was sure auntie Bernie had been taking the piss, which always set Jason off. Greta simply smiled, never wishing to hurt Jason, but Serena could see she was seventy percent with the girls.

Sometimes Serena wondered herself. Had Bernie, panicking about not having given time to this task, simply engaged with Wikipedia? Or had she really come up with this rather unique, and let’s face it, somewhat philosophical approach to relationships after a suitable period of reflection? If Serena had to bet, her money would be on last minute Wiki. Serena had never really bought it. The fact that Bernie then used the Not the Right Sort of Animal argument to let Serena off the hook about staying in Holby while she ran back to Nairobi because she didn’t wear slippers and couldn’t imagine herself pushing children in swings was, in Serena’s opinion, absolute bollocks.

“I just can’t believe that someone of your scientific brilliance would use this as a justification for a human partnership,” Sara says, taking a sip of Prosecco. “So when I heard about it, I wondered. Is there something you know that we don’t? I mean cross-breeding is a big subject in zoology, surely you didn’t really believe that animals should only mate with others of the same species?”

Bernie sighs and puts down her glass. “As I recall, I was trying to write a speech, but the events of the day were rather …overwhelming and I found myself short of time. I went to the staff room on Darwin to get some peace and quiet and there was a kid’s book on the table. I think Jac Naylor had got it for Emma, but I can’t remember exactly. Anyway, that’s where the idea came from. It sounded cute, I thought Jason might like it.”

“And I did, Auntie Bernie, I thought it was great. And I keep a copy of it always,” and Jason reaches into his wallet for a folded -up piece of paper as his daughters groan and Greta hides a smile.

“Da-ad,” Gwen says, “that is just so 2020, keeping something on paper.”

“Actually it was 2018,” Jason retorts, as Serena adds “Well I think paper may have stuck around for a bit longer than that, but never mind. More bubbly, anyone?” holding up the Prosecco to spare Bernie’s blushes.

The fact is, and Serena would not share this with Sara or anyone, Not The Right Sort of Animal became Bernie’s get-out clause. Over the years, when conversations dwelling on the six -year gap in their relationship have surfaced, Serena has let people speculate as to why Bernie ran away. She has held back from naming the elephant in the room, or What Serena Did In The On-Call Room with an F1. Her greatest regret is that she never told Bernie herself; she made love with Bernie with the knowledge of her infidelity festering inside her. It was Bernie who sensed what she was hiding. Serena no longer blames Leah for what she did. This was never about Leah. It was about Serena trying to get back at Bernie for abandoning her, for not answering her calls, for never letting her in. And Bernie got it. In true Bernie fashion she blamed herself and then took herself away, giving Serena this pseudo-scientific excuse of Not The Right Sort of Animal.

In all the years since, Bernie has done everything in her power to make it up to Serena for her lack of communication, for not fighting harder for their relationship back then. And Serena has done everything possible to show Bernie that she was always the only one, that her single lapse of judgement was just that, and that it was her guilt and feeling of unworthiness that prompted her to let Bernie slip away. Serena wants to think that they are long past all that, but the subject has cast a shadow nonetheless. Serena squeezes Bernie’s leg under the table, and feels Bernie’s hand come to cover her own, fingers tangling together.

The conversation moves on and Serena lets it. When she has a chance to get Sara alone she asks, with feigned casualness, “Did you plan to spend any of the summer at home in Holby?”

Sara looks a little uncomfortable. “Oh, Serena, you know how much I love coming home to you, but I have this rotation in Beirut starting in August. I was thinking I might head straight out there once I’ve picked up my stuff here. Bernie says you can collect what I don’t need and take it back to Holby.”

“But August- that’s two weeks away”, says Serena gently. Sara looks down, hating to seem to be hurting Serena’s feelings.

“I know, but now all the exams are over, I thought I’d go and visit some friends in Edinburgh, then pop over to Copenhagen to see the twins.”

“Jolly good idea”, approves Serena, giving the impression she is covering up her disappointment.

“But you know I’ll be home for Christmas. That I promise. And if you feel like it you could come out to Beirut for a few days in October? It’s lovely then.”

“Let’s see how we go”, smiles Serena. “We might try to talk Uncle Aziz into joining us. He’ll want to visit Tom anyway.”

“Great,” Sara says, blushing a little. “Uncle Aziz knows all the best restaurants- and the best Lebanese wines!” she adds, as if to distract from the last point.

 _(Aha_ , thinks Serena, noting the blush and long having suspected Sara of being sweet on Aziz and his wife Niamh’s son, Tom, now an archaeologist on a dig in Lebanon).

“I shall bear that in mind”, laughs Serena, but inside she is relieved. Relieved that Tom will be around to keep an eye on Sara, and relieved that finally, she and Bernie will have some space in which to navigate the final phase of their life together.

Bernie drives the Haynes’ and Serena back to Holby in their seven-seater SUV after collecting Sara’s luggage from her flat, while Cam, Tina and the children head home to London with Charlotte and Sofie. Jason sits up front with Bernie while Greta and the girls sit behind, and Serena, despite everyone’s protests, opts to take the back, the folding seat next to her full of suitcases, boxes and even a guitar, overflowing from the rear luggage compartment. Serena is glad for the space and the quiet to reflect on the beautiful day they have had and on the summer ahead. While Fleur and Gwen argue with Greta about what subjects they should study in the next academic year, Serena tunes out and tries to imagine the conversation she will have with Bernie when they are on their own. 

When they get home after dropping Jason and family, they store Sara’s stuff in her room, change into comfortable sweats and Serena opens a bottle of wine while Bernie makes her signature cheese toasties. The house is eerily quiet. They sit in the conservatory looking at the garden through the open door. There is a full moon outside, and the world feels quiet and peaceful. Suddenly Serena gets a vivid flashback to the night she thought Bernie had been killed. The night that kick -started these last ten years of happy family life. Serena puts her glass down abruptly, the memory suddenly overwhelming her senses. She must have taken a sharp intake of breath because Bernie turns to her with a little worried look.

“Serena? Is something wrong?”

Serena knows that Bernie has often thought about that night. Her speech today was more revealing than perhaps she intended. She knows it plays on Bernie’s mind, and also that Bernie had almost anticipated her own death, as evidenced by the careful preparations she had made for its aftermath.

“I…do you ever think about the night you almost died?”

“Ah, and which of those several occasions are you referring to?” Bernie tries to keep her tone light but she knows perfectly well.

“Aleppo.”

There is a pause while Bernie measures her words. Then she says quietly. “I think about it every day.”

Serena waits. There’s something, she knows, but is Bernie ready to open up?

“But why are you thinking about that now?” Bernie asks instead.

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s the full moon. There was a full moon that night. Something in the air…or your speech today. It brings back that terrible feeling I had when I thought I might be losing you.”

Bernie nods slowly. “But you didn’t. As you can see, I’m here. What was that thing you used to say to Jason? I’m OK, you’re OK and the world can go round?”

Serena nods. “I know. But there was a moment…..later I checked the time and it was when you must have been in surgery- they told me your heart had stopped- and I woke up from a dream where someone or something was dragging you away, and I was trying to hold onto you. It was so real and vivid. I’ve never forgotten. It was the most awful and terrifying thing I’ve ever experienced.”

Bernie is looking at her a little incredulously. Then she says slowly, “There’s a fuzzy memory, must have been when I was under…I heard your voice calling me. That’s what brought me back.”

Serena has tears in her eyes. “Why did you never tell me?” she whispers.

“I don’t know. It seemed unreal, and then unnecessary. We got back together, everything was perfect.”

“Really? Perfect?”

“For me, yes. I can’t speak for you, of course…”

“Oh Bernie. It’s more than perfect,” Serena cries, gripping her hand as the tears fall.

Later, lying in bed after making love, Serena’s head on Bernie’s chest, she finally plucks up courage to broach the subject she has been debating internally for some weeks now.

“What would you say if I suggested it’s time for us to retire?”

“Retire? From what? “

“From…everything. I’ve run the Trust office for 10 years and now I think it’s time for someone younger to take over.”

“Well, yes, why not? You’re 70 after all, you need to wind down a bit. It’s been pretty full on since we got back together.”

“You’re 70 too, Mrs Wolfe, and time for you to slow down. You’re a lot more bruised and battered than me, remember.”

“True. Although my liver’s probably in better condition!”

“Cheeky! No, but seriously, Bernie, I want some “us” time finally. It’s been perfect- work, intellectual stimulation, travel-especially for you, family- Jason, Greta, Cam and Tina, Charlotte and Sofie, and, of course, and above all, Sara. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. But I’m tired. And I want you to myself now.”

“You have a point, darling. It’s been a whirlwind. Maybe sometimes too much like a tornado. Non-stop, public speaking, airports, delayed flights, negotiating, dealing with everyone’s problems before our own.”

“But you thrived on that,” Serena points out. “Which is why I’ve put off saying this stuff.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m a better actor than you give me credit for. I’ve tried to hold it together for the sake of the Trust and everyone we work with. But I’m tired too. So yes, let’s retire. Charlotte can take over the Trust. There are plenty of capable people who can run this office here. Let’s sell this house, run away to the South of France and buy a cottage.”

“You read my mind. I can grow flowers and vegetables and you can write your memoirs.”

“Ha, we’ll see about that. But at least now, darling, we’ll get to enjoy our ‘for eternity’.”


End file.
